When Peter arrived at work later that day he was a man with a mission. Most of the food on the menu at The Mark were dishes that people like Emille could not eat without medication. Too many of those dishes were the reason why people ended up like Emille had.
"Rough night?" Jack asked laconically as he walked into the office at two.
Peter glanced up from his desk, but continued working. "I need to talk to you."
Jack threw himself into the chair across from his friend's desk. "Sounds serious."
"I am," Peter nodded.
"So, talk."
Peter's gaze was level as he closed his laptop and tented his fingers on the desk. "Em has diabetes." She'd probably kill him if she found out that he'd told Jackson.
Jack sat up straight. "That doesn't come as a surprise, Peter. Em is grossly overweight."
"She's not gross," he said in a tight, defensive voice.
Jack's look was enigmatic, but he said, "Fine. She's not gross. She's very overweight. What is she? Three hundred?"
It was Peter's turn to sit upright. "She's lost sixty-five pounds and counting."
"Emille?" Jackson asked. He was clearly shocked. A low whistle escaped him. "Is she-" he waved his finger through the air in a figure eight.
Peter knew what he was asking. It was the same thing he'd wondered when Portia had told him about Emille's success. Jack had known Emille back when too. He nodded. "It's coming back."
"It's been a while since I saw her. I should probably give her a call."
"You should probably give Marcia a call," Peter said specifically.
"Did you want to talk about Emille's diabetes?" Jack asked, redirecting the conversation. "Cause, if you're worried about that, her weightloss is sure to cure it."
"We're hoping," Peter admitted. "But no. What I wanted to tell you is that her diabetes got me thinking. He proceeded to explain his ideas to improve the quality of the foods served at the restaurant to Jackson, pushing forward the first draft of his proposed new menu.
Gravely, Jack considered the menu. After a few minutes he looked up and said, "You do know this is a steakhouse. Right?"
Peter opened his hands. "Is there anything on that menu that's not steakhouse friendly?"
Jack read the menu again. It took even longer for him to finish this time. "Can you tell me in all honesty that these changes won't affect business?" That was the bottom line, after all.
"No," Peter answered truthfully. "I'm not sure. I haven't researched it enough, but I know there are entire groups out there that can't come to The Mark because we are not dietetic enough."
"The kitchen is your domain," Jack replied. "The only thing I've got to tell you is that The Mark is a steakhouse. If you try to turn it into a green bar you and I will have words. We specialize in steaks," he waved his hand in the air negligently. "But we offer a bunch of healthy alternatives too."
Peter, who had leaned back in his chair with fingertips tapping a sequence while he listened halfheartedly to Jack shoot down the idea, looked up and froze. Though Peter was a major investor in the restaurant, it was still Jack's baby. Peter had put some cash and his love of cooking into the restaurant. Jack brought his life to the business every day. There was no time off for him. When Peter was fishing, Jack was working. It was only fair that the owner of The Mark, the man for which it was named, approve the changes.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Jackson shrugged. "I'm saying we could give it a try. But, if the guests don't take to it, we're going back to the old menu."
"Alright!" Peter laughed. He stood and extended his hand to Jack to shake. "Thanksgiving's coming up. We can try out a healthier menu then."
"Peter, the last thing anyone wants for Thanksgiving is tofu-turkey."
Peter pulled him in for a hug and a brotherly kiss on his cheek. "We'll see man. We'll see. If I don’t up the sales this Thanksgiving, you can fire me."
Jack gave him a wry look as they walked out of the office. "I'll remember that."